Our firm friend and companion in
Aikido Paul Mitton has died November 2011

'by the Fudoshin Aikido in Cardiff'

Paul Mitton, from Bath Aikido Society, has died after
suffering pancreatic cancer for several months.

Paul
was with us since the beginning - before the beginning, in
fact, because his association with members of the club
pre-dates it by many years.

Through all that time he
remained a true friend and companion; he was supportive of
individuals and the club, and generous with his time and
energy.

Paul as a willing helper demonstrating
shiho-nage His approach to Aikido and life was permeated
with his good humour and the kind of common-sense that
counts as wisdom, and which promptly evaporated any
pompousness or overbearing solemnity that wandered into his
path. At the same time he wore his own dignity lightly.

Once, Paul was informed by the British Aikido Board that
the name Bath Aikido Society would not do - it was too
parochial. He was never one to indulge in pointless battles
or disputes, so after giving the matter a little thought, he
put forward an alternative which was duly accepted as a
suitable improvement: Furo Ryu Aikido. In other words, Hot
Bath Aikido - because he wasn’t one who was willing just to
give in either.

As was often the case with Paul, his
solution meant that he got what he wanted, the other side
were happy - and
everyone
else got an object lesson in how Aikido works in real life.

To his Aikido practice he brought a playfulness that we
loved. At a seminar on a mat full of people you’d be grabbed
from behind (Paul’s favourite way of inviting you to
practise with him) with the words “Let’s play!” and turn
round - if he let you - to see a grin on his face and a
glint in his eye.

He took everyone he practised with
equally seriously. No-one, however mismatched to his
strength or experience, ever felt that he was just going
through the motions for them. This attitude was equally
evident off the mat - at an Aikido dinner he’d be as
generous and sincere with his attention towards a child at
the table as towards an Aikido luminary on his other side.

Eulogy given by Tony Bristow at Pauls
Funeral.

I know that
there are others here who have shared much with Paul over
the years and who knew him equally well, so this is a
special privilege for me.

Unlike Paul’s sister I
have to say that I never knew Paul when he had hair. He used
once to pretend to be jealous of mine and we continued an
absurd banter for many months until, one day he triumphantly
produced a little black and white passport sized photo of a
wild young man with long shoulder length hair looking like
he’d just emerged from the Sorbonne riots. A young Paul
stared out at the camera with the same unmistakable
expression which he wore when he was having fun; the same
expression which he often wore when he was practicing
Aikido.

Aikido was a great passion for Paul. Even
now his body is dressed in his white gi and black hakama. He
has his favourite wooden bokken sword by his side. In
addition he’s wearing a colourful pair of woolen socks which
were his last request from Jacqui. I think he would really
enjoy this combination.

Everyone who knew him knows
that Paul devoted an enormous amount of time and effort into
his Aikido practice, but actually much more into creating
the conditions so that others could also learn and practice.
It’s down to his efforts that we now have a beautiful,
modern practice hall in Bath where we can continue to learn.
But I expect there must be friends here who have come to say
goodbye who have heard about Aikido from Paul but are still
wondering what on earth I’m talking about, and they deserve
at least a short explanation. Well, if you were you were a
fly on the wall in our practice hall you’d see men and women
of all ages dressed in white practice suits gripping each
other, striking and tumbling. They take turns to play the
role of attacker and defender and everyone attempts to move
with some element of fluid grace, repeating and refining
their movement. But this activity isn’t just for the benefit
of physical exercise. It’s a method of resolving a
potentially violent confrontation into a situation in which
neither party is harmed. It’s a set of principles which
provide an alternative to the self perpetuating conflict
which is normal to the world. A happy bi-product of all this
hard work and concentration is a feeling of joy and
companionship, and Paul has always been a larger than life
presence in the centre of our fellowship.

To say he
brought a special presence on the mat is an understatement.
A friend, Andrew, describes him as using heterodox methods,
and he was indeed unconventional in his approach to
teaching, always questioning and seeking to improve and
adapt the established methods, stripping them down,
examining their parts and reconstructing them into something
unique to him. He never taught so much as shared his ongoing
understanding. He interest in judo, which he took up
seriously when most men are retiring from the sport, brought
a new element to our practice. He enthused about Backwell
judo club, and kept his limbs in tact with growing lengths
of blue of Velcro. Injuries to him, seemed to be being an
enticement to practice harder. Sparring with an Olympic
standard judo champion he once timed a throw so beautifully
and unexpectedly that, much to Paul’s horror, poor Danny da
Costa was temporarily concussed. His classes were like
workshops and he once said that he learned more from
beginners than from established teachers. He had time for
everybody, and the attention he gave to everyone was
undiluted and rewarding. It seems strange to me to be using
these words in his eulogy, but now that I think about him I
realize that he brought to our practice a vibrancy and
immediacy we will all dearly miss. We’ll remember him
wielding a wooden sword, gloves on, like a descending
banshee. We’ll remember him locked in a struggle on the
ground, face red with effort, talking through tactics with
his opponent as if for all the world he were engaged in a
game of chess. We’ll remember his sudden whoops of joy
resounding around the dojo.

But it was with the
young people that Paul’s influence will have such a long
lasting effect. There must be more than a hundred children
in Bath who, at some time in their life, will look back to
their Aikido classes and remember the experience with
affection. I’ve honestly lost count of the years I’ve
witnessed Paul somehow orchestrate wild bands of children
into meaningful, joyful and structured children’s classes.
Discipline is a word with ambiguous connotations, but the
kind of discipline on offer in Paul’s classes was sometimes
fierce, always fair, and unfailingly backed up with a
genuine and unsentimental compassion. Perhaps it’s because
nothing like it is on offer at home or in school that the
children took to it with such enthusiasm. I can still hear
the ear ringing shout of combined ki ai which marked the end
of the children’s class. Paul delighted in sharing jokes
which normally entertain anyone below the age of six. He
would say that it was the reason he ran the children’s class
for all those years and that he was really, a child at
heart. But the lasting consequences of his influence can
make us all genuinely proud of him. Here is an e mail
message written by a parent of a young person to Paul
recently. I’m not sure whether he even saw it. I forwarded
it to him as it arrived, days before his death.

Dear
Paul,

Adam has just sent us a letter where he talks
about you. it's clear that you have given him so much, and
that he will really miss you. As parents we'd like to
thank you for all you've done for him, and by extension for
all the young people who have come into your Dojo. The gifts
you gave them - respect, discipline, self-assurance - are
eternal. If there is justice anywhere in existence, it's
that the gifts people like you bring to the world last long
after they leave it, and are never forgotten.

Many
thanks, Branko and Mary Bufacchi

There are several
goals we seek to achieve in our Aikido practice. Perhaps the
most elusive and difficult one is training the mind to
remain calm, no matter how disturbing or dramatic the
situation, and to deal with every situation with equanimity
as and when it occurs. It seems like only a short time ago
that death tapped Paul on the shoulder. To me it seemed as
if he didn’t break step. Many might have rushed off to seek
refuge or have gone into denial, but whenever I saw him,
Paul was calm, well informed about his situation and quietly
determined to carry on with his active life until he could
no longer do so. He did not participate in the tragedy of
his situation, so keenly felt by his friends. Weeks before
he died a group of Aikido friends went to visit him in his
woods to pick blackberries. On that day he delighted in
talking about forest husbandry, identifying mushrooms,
exploring the woods with us and watching us split logs. He
continued to come to aikido practice and work with the
children until he could no longer trust his body and when it
came time to say goodbye, he shook us by the hand as if he
were off on a journey. He was composed and fully present.
This last lesson shines like a diamond and, to me, is a sign
of rare mastery.

At the end of this service, and
with the permission of Paul’s family, some of his friends
from the Aikido community, who wish to do so, would like to
bow to Paul as his nephew’s carry his body past, outside
this chapel. It might seem a bit incongruous to witness us
perform an odd oriental gesture on an English autumn’s
afternoon. But for us it symbolizes the deep respect and
gratitude we have for Paul, it symbolizes the quality of the
companionship we’ve shared with him. It is to say farewell
and Godspeed.